• 0 Posts
  • 200 Comments
Joined 1 year ago
cake
Cake day: June 17th, 2023

help-circle



  • Scotland, hands down. I feel so lucky to be living here. I was only going to stay three years & then go back to New Zealand and settle down. Thirty-five years later I’m still here. I fell in love with the hills - and the freedom to walk on them - the lochs, the ancient ruins. But most of all I fell in love with the people. Their craic, their warmth and craziness, their generosity, their music. I love that you can talk to anyone and you’ll often hear an amazing life story.

    I love things like this: https://www.dailyrecord.co.uk/news/scottish-news/anti-deportations-group-issues-guide-24107754

    I love the cultural richness that’s come from successive waves of immigration, from Italy, India & Pakistan, China, Poland and more.

    I love the food. I love haggis and Arbroath smokies and Aberdeen butteries and shortbread and oatcakes and Tunnocks caramel wafers.

    And least I forget, yes, I love the weather.



  • I was on a work trip back in the 80s that took me to one of the northern islands of Vanuatu. Our plane landed on a football field, that’s how remote our destination was. After we set up camp, someone said they’d heard there was a teacher from New Zealand in the nearby village. Well I’m a New Zealander too, so off I went to meet her. Within the first few minutes we had worked out that not only were we originally from the same small town… she was my older brother’s first girlfriend.

    But actually because NZ has a small population and we all travel a lot, it’s not as mad a coincidence as all that. It sometimes feels like we are all just a couple of degrees of separation from each other. “Oh you’re from Oamaru? Do you know XY?” “Not really, but one of my cousins works for his sister, ZY.”












  • Back in the late 1970s friend and I decided to hitchhike through Europe - we were living in London. We got zero rides from Calais and ended up catching a train to Paris, arriving at nearly midnight. The hotels near the station were too expensive, and we were sitting in the gutter looking at a map when a young man asked if he could help.

    He said he knew where there were cheaper hotels, and offered to walk us there. He was charming, funny and warm, and we had a great conversation as we walked. After a mile or so he said, well this is crazy, why don’t you come and stay at my place? My mother won’t mind.

    He took us to a grand Paris apartment, like from a film. His mother was already in bed, but she called out instructions for putting fresh sheets on the sofas. Hearing that we hadn’t eaten all day, he took us out for a meal at a couscous restaurant nearby (it was after 1am by now). He explained that he had to leave early in the morning because he taught at a school for special needs children outside the city, but that his mother would give us breakfast.

    And that is what happened - she was charming and warm, and acted as if it was perfectly normal to feed two random foreigners her son had brought home in the middle of the night.

    I’ve loved Paris ever since.